’ ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact,’ Gerald said decidedly, a frown creasing his brow. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. It was Sebastian’s fault for slapping her face and letting the baby out. The carte de jour was before Monsieur. Sir John filled his glass with trembling hand.
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